J. Robb - Delusion in Death

You’ll know the person who did this won’t ever be able to hurt anyone again. He won’t ever take another father from his children.”

“Joe never hurt anyone. He’s such a sweet man, so easygoing. Sometimes too easy, that’s what I’d tell him. He never pushed at work, and the kids could always twist him around their fingers. He never hurt anyone.”

“He was up for a promotion.”

“Was he?” The faintest of smiles touched her lips. “He didn’t tell me.”

“He may not have known, but it was in his file. He put a lot of work into this last campaign.”

“Yes, he did. The whole team did.”

“You know the people he worked with.”

“Yes. Nancy—Nancy Weaver, his boss—she’s been by. She’s been wonderful. Steve and Lew, they both contacted me. Steve sent food. This huge ham with bread and … things. For sandwiches.”

“And I wish you’d eat a little more of it.” Dana came in with a tray, set it down.

“I will. I promise.” Elaine took her mother’s hand, drew her down.

“Sometimes when people work so closely together, on an important project, there’s conflict,” Eve began. “Was there any conflict within the team?”

“It’s hard to fight with Joe,” Elaine said while her mother poured out the tea. “He loves his job, and he’s good at it. He likes being part of a team.”

“Was he aware Vann and Weaver had an affair?”

Again, that faint smile. “Joe’s a quiet man, and quiet types see things. He knew.”

“Did it bother him?”

“No. It bothered me, some. I thought—said—how Steve covered all the bets. Family and sex, but Joe just laughed it off. And Steve did good work. He loves his boy. I guess that goes a long way with me—and with Joe. When a father loves his son, and it shows.”

“That leaves Callaway.”

“Lew?” Elaine curled up her legs, pretended to drink her tea. “Another quiet type, but not as naturally outgoing or easygoing as Joe. Joe used to say Lew had to work at the grip and grin. He did better with ideas—big pictures. Joe liked to fiddle and finesse, dig in. I’d get annoyed sometimes when Joe worked out Lew’s concepts, spent all the time to bring them in line, if you understand me. And most of the time, he wouldn’t take credit for it. But I guess people noticed anyway. He was up for a promotion, Mom.”

“Nobody deserved it more.”

“So he never complained to you about his coworkers?”

“Well, he’s not a saint. He’d gripe now and then, in his Joe way. Steve took another two-hour lunch, or left early for a hot date. Lew’s on the broody train again.”

“Broody train?”

“Joe’s expression. Lew’d get moody—kind of sulk, I guess, when his ideas got shot down or re-imagined. Stuff like that rolls off Joe’s back, but I guess it stuck to Lew’s.”

“Did you know Carly Fisher?”

“Not really. I met her, and I know Joe thought she was bright, and had a strong future. I hated hearing she’d been killed. She was Nancy’s favorite.”

“Was she?”

“Absolutely. I think Nancy saw a lot of herself in Carly. Joe said he was looking at his next boss.”

“It didn’t bother him?”

“Not Joe. He didn’t want to be the boss. He wanted to be one of the team. That’s what he was good at.”

After they’d left Elaine with her mother, Eve stood out in the wind for a moment. “What did we learn?” she asked Peabody.

“That Joe Cattery was a nice guy who enjoyed his work. His wife loved him, and they’d built a nice life here.”

“And other than the eulogy?”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Nice guy with a nice life. Not the big idea guy, not the driven guy, the flashy guy. But the nice guy who’s working his way up because he likes his work and he’s good at it, because he’s a team player by nature. He’s willing to help, to take the extra step without making a big deal out of it. And apparently the brass noticed. So he got the juicy bonus, and would’ve been promoted. Then there’s Callaway. He’s got the big ideas. He’s driven. He’s no team player but he pretends to be. Everybody’s always fucking with his concepts, nudging him aside so somebody else can slide by him on the way up. So he sulks and the brass notices.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Can I talk in the car? It’s freezing out here.”

“Clears the head.” But Eve opened the car door, slid behind the wheel. “Big campaign, and Joe’s out of the way. Promotion’s up for grabs. Vann’s already got the corner office. Callaway’s got to think if somebody’s going to get promoted, get fucking noticed it’s going to be him now. Fisher’s gone, too, so no teacher’s pet’s breathing down his neck. He showed them. Boy, he showed them. Fucking worker bees, buzzing in their hive. He can take them out any time. Whenever he wants, as many as he wants. And they did it to themselves, didn’t they? He wasn’t even there.”

“That’s a little scary.”

“I’d say he’s plenty scary, the fuck.”

“No, I mean you, being him. That’s a little scary.”

“She gave me a nice picture of him and she doesn’t much like him, that came through.”

“It did.”

Eve started the car, pulled away. “No particular feeling for him, which tells me Joe likely didn’t warm up to him either. She talked about Weaver coming out here, and there was emotion when she did. She talked about Vann and Callaway contacting her, and she was grateful. Vann sent a big-ass ham so she wouldn’t have to think about food. It meant something to her.”

“People send food for death.”

“They do?”

“It’s a line from a book, I can’t think what book. But yeah, people send food for death, flowers for sickness. To Kill a Mockingbird! That’s it. Score for me.”

“I’ll make a note,” Eve said dryly. “Weaver comes all the way out to Brooklyn to see the widow, and I’ll bet they had a weep together. Vann contacts her, talks to her, and sends food. But Callaway, just the contact. He does what he has to do, and nothing more. That’s why somebody like Joe wouldn’t especially warm to him, and why his widow didn’t either. Weaver doesn’t like him either, or she’d have slept with him. He does a good job, he has some good ideas, but he doesn’t shine for her. Carly Fisher did.”

“We should find out who else did. If we can’t close him down, he’s going to go after another.”

“You’re right about that.” Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel as she drove. “We’ll talk to Fisher’s roommate, find out who she hung with from work. And we’ll bring him in. I want to talk to the parents, get a—”

She broke off when her ’link signaled, then switched it to her wrist unit. “Dallas.”

“That is so iced,” Peabody murmured.

“Lieutenant, Agent Teasdale. I’ve arranged for the Callaways to be brought into New York. They should be at Central by fourteen hundred.”

“That’ll work.”

“The search warrant proved more problematic. However, given the scope of the investigation, and the crime, I was able to persuade the appropriate judge to sign off. If you agree, a team from HSO will assist whoever you send to Arkansas.”

“That works, too. I’ll get back to you on that. I’ve got some arranging of my own to do.” She clicked off, tagged Baxter.

“Get Trueheart, huddle with Teasdale. You’re going to join an HSO team in Arkansas on a search of Callaway’s parents’ house.”

“Arkansas? Barbecue!”

“Glad I can bring a smile to your face. Look for mementos of the Urbans, letters, journals, photos, discs. Religious stuff, political stuff—anything personal Callaway might have left there. Anything from when he was a kid. Schoolwork, music, books. See if there’s anything that shows he had an interest or aptitude for science.”